


Half of My Heart is in Havana

by starknjarvis



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: ABO, Everyone is of age, Explicit Sex, M/M, Sex, Sex Pollen, but very enthusiastically consensual, some ABO inherent dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-08 01:07:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21467527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starknjarvis/pseuds/starknjarvis
Summary: While fighting Deathstroke, Dick is hit with a chemical that triggers his heat. No job is worth taking advantage of Dick in this state, so Deathstroke helps him escape.If Dick asks nicely enough, Deathstroke may help him in more ways than that.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Comments: 13
Kudos: 662





	Half of My Heart is in Havana

**Author's Note:**

> This is, quite probably, the horniest thing I've ever written. You've been warned.
> 
> General warnings for ABO dynamics, though I tried to make this heat/sex-pollen fuckfest as consensual as possible.

Dick hated when his enemies worked together.

Bane was experimenting with something dangerous on Santa Prisca. They didn’t know the exact compound, but the number of kidnapped scientists and alarmingly powerful chemicals brought onto the island had triggered every alarm in Batman’s systems.

In itself, Bane working on some nefarious plan was no surprise. Not even the location—Dick could not figure out why Bruce had not destroyed Santa Prisca by now, or at least used the Wayne Enterprises money to buy and rehabilitate it.

The surprise came when Dick had been sent in for reconnaissance and had instead been caught in the act by Deathstroke. The mercenary had nearly carved Dick in half with a blade before Dick had realized he was there. For a man so bulky, he moved quietly.

The rest of the factory was deserted. Dick had hoped he was having good luck, but Bane must have trusted that Deathstroke, Slade Wilson, could manage the security all on his own. Enormous vats of bubbling liquid surrounded them in copper containers that burned to the touch. Steam and smoke drifted toward the warehouse ceiling, multicolored even in the dim lighting. Only a string of emergency lights along the edges of the building provided any light. With most of Deathstroke’s costume in black, he was difficult to track.

Dick ducked under a swing of the sword and tackled Deathstroke backward.

“What is Bane working on?” Dick asked, pinning Deathstroke to the ground. The assassin was as muscled as Bruce, broad-shouldered and hard as iron.

Deftly, before Dick could settle into position, Deathstroke grabbed his arms and slammed his feet into the superhero’s stomach, sending him flying over his head. Dick twisted so that he wouldn’t land on his face, but his hands and knees skidding on the ground. He managed to stop himself just before colliding with one of the vats. He could feel the heat from inches away.

“I don’t know, and I don’t care. I do what I’m paid to do,” Slade said, crouching and watching Dick closely. The single lens in his mask glinted in the low light. He lunged toward Dick, but, anticipating the attack, Dick had his grappling gun in hand. He aimed for the catwalk overhead. The grapple wrapped around the rail and Dick was swept in the air just in time to avoid the slice of Slade’s blade.

The catwalk gave him a view of Bane’s experiments. The fumes mixed in the air around him like colorful fog, smelling of flame and sweat and night air. He breathed in more deeply than planned, seeking more of the intoxicating scent. He normally would have worn his rebreather into any warehouse Bane was working in, but he had lost it in the swim to the island. Getting to the surface at all had been a trial, and he had not wanted to turn around before his first step with no intelligence.

No intelligence. Maybe that was something he brought with him. The air felt heavy and hot around him. What was in those vats? He felt alert, but slow. He was hyperaware of the flex of his armor against his skin, but also felt as though he were moving in a dream. He had already been sweating from the swim and the fight, but he now felt slick with it.

He wanted to take off his mask, and that was how he knew something was very wrong.

Following Bruce’s training, he focused on his breathing and tapped his thumb against each finger in a steady pattern. He had been dosed with fear toxin and laughing gas and sleeping venom. He could suppress whatever effects these fumes were having long enough to deal with…

Deathstroke. The man landed on the catwalk in front of him, sword held aloft.

When they had fought earlier, Dick had not wasted the energy to notice how Deathstroke had smelled while pinned beneath him. How had he not noticed it? He smelled more wild and alive than the rainforest surrounding them.

Dick had always known that Deathstoke was an Alpha, the same way he’d known the man was strong, smart, and lethal. He exuded the energy in every step, as much a part of him as the single eye. But Dick never let it impact him in the field. He was an Omega superhero—if he hadn’t been able to control his damn hormones, Bruce would never have let him into the field. Some other heroes might not have taken Dick on as a sidekick, but Bruce had never blinked. Bruce never saw what other people focused on—all he cared about was whether Dick had the conviction to do the job.

Dick had thought he did.

Somehow, though, tonight, he didn’t even flinch as Deathstroke prowled toward him, blade at the ready. Dick was too enamored with the swing of his hips, those powerful shoulders, and that _smell_ to do anything more than gape.

“Not even going to draw your escrimas? Giving up so soon?” Deathstroke taunted.

Dick couldn’t find the words. He just inhaled, long and slow, and closed his eyes. God, Deathstroke’s _voice_. It was like the thrum of the Batmobile.

“What the fuck?” Slade growled. He didn’t slow his approach to Dick. He put his sword against Dick’s shoulder, a warning to stay still, and then used his other hand to yank Dick’s hair. Dick tipped back pliantly, looking up into Deathstoke’s eyes. The fingers in his hair made his heart pound.

“You’re high as a kite,” Deathstroke murmured. Then, he leaned in closer and sniffed at Dick’s jaw. Dick gasped as he felt the mask brush his sensitive skin. “No. You’re in heat.” He looked around the warehouse, staying pressed close to Dick’s space. “You would never go into the field like this. Bane is working on a synthetic trigger, isn’t he?”

Dick fought for some thread of coherency. It was difficult with the fingers still wrapped in his hair and the body so close to his. Would a man dying of thirst be expected to solve an algebra problem if a waterfall was in front of him?

Bruce would say yes. Mind over matter. Dick bit the inside of his cheek hard. The wash of blood felt erotic over his tongue, but the pain gave him a moment of clarity. This was Deathstroke. The man had been one move from killing him not two minutes ago. He was working for the man who had made this drug, the one turning Dick into something desperate and mindless.

Dick tried to jerk away from the grip in his hair, but the tug made a moan slip through his lips.

“You’re fighting it,” Slade mused. “You want to fall to pieces. You’re holding on by a thread.” Dick gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the way Slade’s voice rumbled through him. Should Dick reach for his escrimas after all? Slade still had the sword resting by his neck, and that hand was powerful enough to snap Dick’s spine.

Instead, Slade stepped back and sheathed his sword. “Come on. With you smelling like that, you’ll bring the whole facility down on us soon.”

“What?” Dick choked.

“You want me to kill you?” he asked. “Or maybe you want Bane to tear you in half like he nearly did to the Batman?”

Dick was too turned on to think. “No?”

“Then come with me.”

“But you’re…”

“This isn’t worth the money,” Slade said. “I have my lines, Nightwing, and killing an Omega who would throw himself on my sword just to get closer to me is one of them.”

“Wouldn’t…do that,” Dick protested. Unless the sword was metaphorical. His eyes traced down Slade’s body armor. It was too dark for him to see anything, but he could imagine the cock that rested inside. It was probably as big as the rest of him.

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Deathstroke said. Dick wasn’t gone enough not to hear the mocking tone. “You need off this island. The heat is only going to get worse—it’s going to hit you hard, from the way you’re shaking.” Was Dick shaking? He hadn’t noticed. “I know a secret way off. I always make my own escape plans before I agree to a job. Just in case.”

“Paranoid bastard,” Dick said.

“Worked out for us both this time, didn’t it?” Slade pulled Dick’s arm over his shoulder and led him to the stairs. He moved as though Dick weighed nothing, and Dick stumbled along beside him without complaint. This close, he could feel the muscles in Slade’s neck and back moving with every step.

Dick followed along complacently through a series of tunnels underground, damp and smelling of salt water. Slade was mostly silent, after his comments about the tunnels flooding during high tide were met by Dick sniffing his neck. Dick was sure the flooding comment might have been interesting, but Slade wouldn’t walk into a death trap. He was interested in self-preservation beyond all else, and if he wanted Dick dead, he wouldn’t need an elaborate trick.

Footsteps pounded nearby, and Slade ushered him into a supply closet. The door, rusted from the sea water, protested being opened, but Slade nearly ripped it off its hinges and shoved Dick inside. The door closed again just as the footsteps turned into their corridor, leaving them in a pitch darkness. Dick could hear the boots getting closer. His sense of smell was heightened, and he could identify a heady mix of Alpha and Beta scents mingling on the other side of the door.

Far more intoxicating was the scent beside him. Slade had him pressed against the wall, one hand on his neck. If Dick lost his head and tried to make a noise, Slade would be able to cover his mouth in an instant. Or snap his neck.

The heat of him was drugging. He was so large, so solid. Dick rolled his hips once, exploring. The wall in front of him pressed against his cock while his ass rubbed the front of Slade’s pants. Dick shuddered an exhale and did it again. His eyes rolled in his head at the burst of sensation.

“Hush,” Slade said, a nearly inaudible growl in Dick’s ear.

With trembling effort, Dick held himself still until the footsteps outside disappeared and Slade led them out again. Dick followed closely, feeling humble and rejected. Was Slade as unaffected as he appeared? Dick had always known Slade was attractive. As Dick had gotten older and started noticing such things, his eyes had lingered on Slade’s broad shoulders and sturdy thighs more than once. Even more, Dick had always been impressed by competency, and Slade was the best at what he did.

Did Slade still see him as the scrawny sidekick who had thwarted his plans for years? Dick was nearing twenty-four, but he knew some of the older heroes—and villains—still saw him as a kid.

It wasn’t until they reached a submarine floating in an underground cave that Dick finally caught a moment of lucidity.

This was _Deathstroke_. Dick did not want Bane and his men to discover him like this, but getting in a tin can under the ocean with one of the world’s most dangerous men was hardly wiser. He was lusting after a deadly assassin, pining over his disinterest. Dick could feel the need clawing at his insides, his skin so oversensitive that each step seemed like a caress between his thighs. Slade had seemed to have no interest in Dick in that closet, but even if Deathstroke himself didn’t touch him, a superhero in this state would be worth a fortune. Did Deathstroke ever work in sex trafficking? Dick felt that was one of the man’s few hard lines, but his mind was too blurred to be sure.

“Get in,” Deathstroke said. He pressed a button on a slender device, opening the submarine’s top. It bobbed in the water, a point of no return.

“I…” Dick swallowed. His voice was a croak. He needed to think clearly. “I can’t… I shouldn’t, not like this.”

Deathstroke was in front of him suddenly. Dick had been too focused on the submarine to see him move. “Nightwing. If you stay here, Bane will find you. Your scent has been getting stronger as we’ve moved—it will be like a flare to them. I don’t know what he was planning with that drug of his. Who knows how intense your heat will be, or how long it will last? You want to be at their mercy for it?”

“Do I want to be at yours?” Dick challenged, finding his voice.

“Do you?” Slade asked, and the breath caught in Dick’s throat. Slade shook his head. “I don’t fuck unwilling people, Nightwing, no matter how good they smell. I have more self-control than any man you’ve ever met.”

“I work with Batman,” Dick said.

Deathstroke hummed, but didn’t argue the point. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead. If I wanted you hurt, you’d be hurt. Bane would have given you to me if I’d asked. If you can’t trust me, trust the logic. I’m not risking my reputation to get you off this island just to take advantage of you. I won’t touch you.”

_And if I wanted you to?_ “Okay,” Dick said.

He was clumsy climbing into the submarine. He would have lost his balance and tumbled into the dark water if Slade had not grabbed him by the collar and shoved him forward. Dick fell through the hatch, the back of his neck still humming with the touch. He scrambled to his feet, already feeling trapped by the small space.

Slade dropped through the hatch with ease, moving past Dick without a second glance to sit at the controls.

They eased away from Santa Prisca smoothly. Slade operated the small craft as easily as he did anything. The broad window in front illuminated a few feet of ocean at a time, hugging close to the coral.

There was a long period of silence where Slade checked dials, scanned for radar, and operated the submarine, and Dick imagined Slade’s tongue in his ass.

Dick was in his mid-twenties. His heats came regularly, nudged into place by hormone therapy. Rather than taking daily pills, which were unfeasible on long missions, Dick had trained his body to keep to the schedule with top-of-the-line hormone injections every few months as a teen. Bruce had been as matter-of-fact about it as he was everything else, giving Dick a full rundown of the options before letting him choose.

Dick normally spent his heats with a friend. Kori was especially talented at fucking his brains out, and then clapping him on the back and sending him on his way at the end. They stayed hydrated and hygienic, tucked away in a safe house undoubtedly guarded by unseen Robins. It was inconvenient, but only came around once every four months.

Sweating through his armor while trapped in a tiny submarine off the coast of Bane’s island was not inconvenient. It bordered the line of terrifying. Dick was not as much of a control freak as Bruce, but he had his limits.

Slade’s scent was heavy in the air. Dick felt like a cartoon drifting through the air after an irresistible scent, only he was being led by his dick instead of his nose.

He laughed out loud at the thought, breaking the still silence of the submarine. When it hit the air, the laugh seemed manic and threadbare.

Finally, Slade spoke. “Are you going to make it to land?”

“How long?”

“Five hours until we hit Cuba.”

Five hours. Dick had fallen headfirst into the heat. How much worse would it get? He was already breathing unsteadily, and he had been hard since the utility closet. What would happen if Dick could not hold on? Would he lose his mind and start rutting on the floor, or just pounce on Slade? Slade could fight him off, no matter how desperate Dick was. Dick could rarely beat him in a fight even when he was at the top of his game. It would be embarrassing for both of them. What would Slade do? Tie him to the chair? Dick shuddered, imagining being bound in place, desperate for touch, while Slade moved just out of reach.

“I’ll be fine,” he said finally through clenched teeth.

“Because you smell like a brothel,” Slade said. He pressed some buttons on the panel, and the submarine continued forward smoothly even when he lifted his hands and swiveled his seat around. Auto-pilot, now they were away from the rocky shoreline. “I’m surprised you’re not fucking yourself already.”

Dick gasped, the image rocking him to the bone. He imagined his pants around his ankles, fucking back onto his fingers while Slade calmly guided the submarine.

“Look at you,” Slade mused. He took off his helmet, revealing a single eye intent on Dick’s face. His silver hair was slicked back from his head, smooth despite hours in the helmet. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “This has you all sorts of fucked up. You could, you know. Get yourself off. Far be it from me to stop you.”

“Slade,” Dick said, desperate. He felt like a bow in an arrow, strung tight. He gripped his armrests with frantic fingers.

“Don’t worry, kid,” Slade said. “I won’t even watch if you don’t want me to. Though I think your noises alone will be keeping me company for a while. Did you know you’ve been whimpering for the last thirty minutes?”

“Jesus,” Dick choked out. “Just fuck me already.”

Slade leaned back in his chair. Was he hard? It was difficult to tell against the black fabric. “You’re having the strongest heat I’ve seen in years. You’re not in your right mind. You’d regret it, and that’s not how I do things.” He waved a hand when Dick made a protesting sound. “I have toys you can use. You need to get off, but you don’t need me to do it.”

Did Slade fuck other people in this submarine? Or did he use them on himself? “Slade,” Dick said, voice nearly a whine. “I want you to do it.”

“Your daddy would kill us both,” Deathstroke said with a low chuckle. “You wouldn’t have even thought of this if you weren’t drugged to your eyeballs. Don’t push your luck, kid.”

Dick’s answering laugh was breathless. “Slade, I’ve wanted you to fuck me since I was old enough to want that shit. Have you _seen_ you?” He squirmed in his seat. “You saved me. I could use a toy. But I want your knot and you’re _right there_.” He took a deep breath, which brought in a stronger rush of Slade’s scent and did not help his nerves at all. “Don’t do it if you don’t want, but, God, don’t say no because you think I wouldn’t want to fuck you otherwise. If you’d stop fucking killing people, I’d have fucked you years ago.”

“I won’t stop killing people,” Slade said. Dick couldn’t read his tone.

“And after tonight, I’ll try to stop you some more, but I need this now,” Dick said. “Batman can’t even complain. I’m an adult and I’m in heat and Catwoman doesn’t exactly have a clean record.” He unbuckled his seatbelt. Carefully, aware of the slick between his legs and Slade’s eye heavy on him, he crossed the short distance between them. He stopped next to Slade, not reaching out. “Say you don’t want me and I’ll take care of myself. I will.”

Bright white teeth gleamed as Slade slowly smiled. “How much did it hurt you to make that concession?” he asked. “You’d do anything for my touch right now, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” Dick whispered.

Slade reached down and rubbed a hand over the front of his uniform pants. It was a casual touch, but clearly traced a hardness inside. “Pretty thing, begging for me,” he mused. “I didn’t expect this job to bring such perks.”

That was enough of a confirmation for Dick. Let Slade fight him off if he was wrong—he couldn’t stand it any longer. He launched himself onto Slade’s lap, pulling him into a bruising kiss. Slade kissed back, as hot and eager as Dick. Dick ground down on Slade’s lap, feeling the shadowed hardness for himself.

“Wildcat,” Slade said. With ease, he stood up, his hands clasped around Dick’s thighs to hold him in place. He walked them to the back of the submarine. Dick was so focused on the heat in Slade’s eye and the feeling of his waist and thick cock that he yelped in surprise when Slade suddenly dropped him.

Dick landed on a cot, and barely had time to catch his breath before Slade was on him. Slade stripped him with ease, finding the hidden zippers and clasps without needing to look. He did not stop until Dick was completely naked, apart from his mask. It felt like a weak protector of his identity when his body was on display. Settled between Dick’s sprawled thighs, Slade looked down at him hungrily.

Dick tried to squirm upright, twisting.

“Change your mind already?” Slade asked, looking down at Dick’s throbbing cock skeptically.

“You can’t fuck me like this. I’m turning over,” Dick said.

Slade put a hand on his chest and pushed him back down. “I can and I will,” Slade said. “I want to be able to see your face. The effects of Bane’s drug are still unknown…and I’ve imagined before what you must look like when you come. You already live with such abandon. You must be beautiful in the throes of ecstasy.”

Dick had fucked people in every position imaginable—when you said you were an acrobat, people got creative fast—but the idea of Slade watching him come apart sent a thrill through him. He had imagined this quick and brutal, feeling Slade mounting him from behind. Face-to-face was more intimate than he would have dreamed. It was terrifying and deeply arousing.

Slade must have seen Dick’s reaction on his face, because his hands began to trace over Dick’s bare chest. He brushed his nipples simultaneously. Dick arched as though Slade’s thumbs were electric wires. “Don’t tease me,” he pleaded.

Slade brushed over his nipples again. “You’re about to burst,” he commented.

“Yeah,” Dick breathed.

“I’ve always wanted to see you beg for mercy,” Slade mused, and dipped his mouth to lick one of Dick’s nipples.

Dick twisted beneath him, the razor edge of pleasure and oversensitivity warring through his body. Every inch of skin was raw, and the gentle brushes from Slade were too much and not nearly enough.

“Slade, please,” Dick said. He did not realize he had begun to reach for his own cock until Slade had both his arms suddenly pinned to the cot overhead. Large hands pressed Dick’s wrists into the mattress.

“Hands off,” Slade said. “You asked me to do this, and I’m doing it my way. You’ll take what I give you.”

Dick panted, and then nodded. When Slade released his hands, Dick left them in place, twisting them into the sheets. “Good boy,” Slade said. Dick groaned, and Slade continued, “Of course you like that. You like to hear that you’re being good for me?” He watched Dick writhe in place for a long moment. Dick felt his gaze like a physical weight. 

Finally, he dragged his hand down Dick’s chest. He skirted Dick’s cock, and circled behind. His fingers brushed Dick’s aching balls, and then brushed over his hole. Dick gasped. He had known he was slick, but the foreign touch made the heat narrow.

“You’re soaking,” Slade said, his finger drifting over Dick’s perineum. “I bet you’re loose and easy right now.” Before Dick could react, two fingers slid inside him to the knuckle.

Dick bucked, keening. The sudden intrusion stretched him the way he had been craving. These were Slade’s fingers inside him, those clever hands fucking Dick’s ass.

“You’re too tense,” Slade murmured, crooking his fingers idly. Dick reached for Slade, but slammed his hands back on the bed at a single look from the other man. “We should take the edge off.”

“I’m, hn,” Dick said.

Slade crouched down between Dick’s legs. He fucked his fingers in and out a few times, rough and firm. The sensation rocked through him, an echo of what he needed. Slade kept his eye on Dick’s expression, and then nodded. “This is what you need,” he said, and then ducked his head to lick a stripe up Dick’s cock.

Dick jerked again. His fingers were so tight against the sheets that he was sure the fabric would tear soon. “Please, please, please,” he said.

“I know,” Slade said, still fucking him with his fingers. This time, instead of a simple lick, he swallowed the head of Dick’s cock.

The sight of Slade taking his cock into his mouth was all Dick needed. He came with blinding speed, shudders quivering through his body. The pleasure pulsed around the fingers still pumping inside him. He could feel Slade swallowing his come, tongue steadily working against Dick’s cock.

When the shaking subsided, Dick found Slade propped over him, watching his face like it was the map of an enemy headquarters. Dick’s skin did not feel as tight and hot as it had before, but the need pooling in his core was still as intense as a wildfire. His cock, damp from Slade’s mouth, was twitching but still hard against his stomach.

“How are you feeling?” Slade asked. He wiped a bead of sweat from Dick’s chest. 

“Fuck me,” Dick said.

Slade hummed. “Not even a thank you?”

“Please fuck me,” Dick said.

Slade stood up and stripped. He watched Dick as he did, staring at him like he was a buffet table Slade had been waiting for. Dick was sure his expression was similar. Slade was broad and strong, tanned and scarred from years of his work. He was slightly wiry with age, though no smaller than he had been in their early years fighting each other. The patch of hair above his hard cock was as silver as the rest. The cock was thick and long, nearly intimidating if Dick had not been loose with come and heat.

“Now you can turn over,” Slade instructed. He palmed his cock, and Dick was reluctant to lose that view. Still, if it would get that cock inside of him sooner…

He turned over and propped himself on hands and knees. The cot beneath his head was perfunctory, covered with a simple cotton. It seemed innocuous, reminding him that they were doing this in the back of a submarine in the ocean rather than at a hotel or his bedroom. He was having his heat in international waters, meters below the surface. Bane’s men could still be hunting them.

Any concern for the situation vanished when he felt Slade settle into place behind him. Not just because of the heat of his body, though that was part of it—even if Dick was lost to the sensations, Slade would never lose his situational awareness. Dick was safer in Slade’s hands at the bottom of the ocean than he could have been almost anywhere else on the planet.

Dick sucked in a breath when he felt Slade’s cock nudge his entrance. He tensed, but Slade did not enter him. Instead, he leaned over Dick and whispered in his ear, “Are you ready for me? Nice and loose?”

Dick whimpered.

Slade bit his ear, and then, with a deft motion, used a hand to knock Dick from his elbows. Dick landed cheek-first into the mattress, ass in the air. The sheets beneath him were generic and scratchy, a striking new sensation. Slade moved his hand to Dick’s hair, stroking the locks before gripping them tightly.

Dick’s cock had not lost any of its hardness from the previous orgasm, and now pulsed with need. He let Slade keep his head pinned, but rolled his hips. Slade moved back with him so that he could not get an inch more contact, but then took pity on him.

Steadily but inexorably, Slade pushed inside Dick.

This time, they both groaned.

When he was fully seated, he paused for a moment. Dick squirmed, but the weight against his back and hand in his hair prevented him from moving far. After far too long, Slade rocked out and back in. The thrust made Dick groan. He felt like he was being split open from inside, filled to the brim.

“Fuck me,” he pleaded.

“You beg so pretty,” Slade said, and began fucking him in earnest. He moved his body like a well-oiled machine, pumping in and out of Dick’s heat. It was relentless and steady.

“_Oh_,” Dick said, pushing back into every thrust.

It was so much, so good. Dick wouldn’t be able to last long under the steady pressure. Slade seemed as far gone, fucking him hard and fast. Dick tried to move one of his hands down to his aching cock, but Slade tugged harshly on his hair. “Keep your hands where I can see them,” he growled.

“Touch me,” Dick begged, but kept his hands by his head. The pleasure was building again, but felt just out of reach. He had already come once—he needed to be shoved over the edge.

“No.” Slade tugged his hair again, creating a shockwave of pleasure. “You’ll come without that. Just my cock inside you. Can you feel my knot?” When he said it, Dick realized he could. There was an extra stretch to Slade’s cock now, tugging and pressing at his rim. “You’re going to come without a hand on you, and then I’m going to knot you.”

“I can’t,” Dick moaned.

“You can because I say you can,” Slade said. “You want to be good for me? Come now. Come again. Milk my knot dry. Come for me.”

And just like that, Dick was. He thrashed with pleasure, overwhelmed. Slade kept fucking him, deeper and harder. Dick felt as though his entire body was shuddering, down to his very blood cells. He moaned and spoke nonsense, pleading Slade for more and begging him to stop at the same time. It was too much—just enough.

With a grunt, Slade pushed all the way into Dick and locked into place, coming hot inside him. Drowning in pleasure, Dick felt aftershocks from the huge knot inside him ripple up to his fingertips.

Slade came in long pulses before finally stilling. He moved his weight more fully onto Dick slowly, unexpectedly careful. The knot inside him shifted with the motion, but Dick’s groan was quieter than before. He felt as though he was floating on a cloud, with only the knot in his ass keeping him tied to his body at all.

“Damn, kid,” Slade said.

Dick moaned, long and luxurious. He twisted back, feeling the knot move inside him. He felt sated and loose.

“Better?”

“Much,” Dick said, voice hoarse.

“I doubt it will last,” Slade said. “This heat has hit you hard. The knot will satisfy it for only a while.”

“Probably,” Dick agreed. The rumble of Slade’s voice against his back was thrilling.

“This is your time to back out, if you don’t want me to fuck your brains out all the way to shore,” Slade said. “You should be a bit more coherent for the next few minutes.” Dick had been, until Slade had said ‘fuck your brains out.’ The crassness in Slade’s smooth voice was a shot of adrenaline.

“After that, you don’t think I want this?” Dick asked.

Slade laughed. “You’ve always wanted this,” he said with no hint of hesitation. “The question is if you’ll let yourself have it.”

How could Dick go back to ignoring the attraction between them after having a taste of what Slade could offer? “As long as you’re offering, I want it,” Dick said.

“Good,” Slade said. He rolled his hips slowly, igniting the nerves inside Dick. “How long do your heats usually last?”

“Thr-three days,” Dick said.

“And we don’t know how this drug will affect it,” Slade mused. “We’ll land in Cuba by morning, and we’ll go to my safe house until you can stand on your own feet.”

“You’d take me to one of your safe houses?”

“Bane will still be looking for us. Besides, I’m not worried—it would be bad form for you to call your daddy on me after how nice I’m being,” Slade chided, twisting his hips again. His knot jolted inside Dick, and he whined. His heat would be flooding him again soon.

“Keep that promise to fuck my brains out and we’ll talk,” Dick said.

Slade did keep the promise. When the heat took over Dick again, Slade pinned him down and fucked him in every position known to man, hitting deeper and harder each time.

Dick was in the middle of an unquenchable wave when they made it to Cuba, and he had vague memories of being hauled bodily down narrow streets before being taken through three layers of security and landed in a new bed.

When Dick regained some awareness, he looked at Slade, whose silver hair was mussed and his single eye bright with sympathetic rut. He had just slipped his knot out again, and Dick’s entire body felt thoroughly fucked. “You can’t afford better sheets?” he asked, arching his back and testing the bed.

“I don’t sleep much, and tend to bleed in all my safe houses,” Slade said. “I save my money for more important things.”

Dick hummed. His heat was receding like the tide, the last few waves lighter than the first. “How long has it been?”

“Four days,” Slade said. He grabbed an empanada from a box beside the bed and threw it onto Dick’s chest. “Eat.”

When had the food arrived? It always amazed Dick how much loss of awareness he suffered during his heats. He ate the empanada, which was cold but still packed with flavor. “Sick of me yet?” Dick asked mildly.

Slade smirked. “Not sure what sort of man would complain about spending half a week buried in that sweet ass,” he said. “I always knew it would be good.”

How often had Slade and Dick stared at each other while fighting, secretly imagining fucking each other raw? Dick finally understood Bruce’s on-again, off-again relationship with Selina. The heat of repressed desire from two sides of a battlefield was intoxicating.

They fucked twice more. Once was the final push of lust from the heat. The second was in the shower after while Dick was trying to clean himself of four days of sweat and come and slick. Slade had come in to drop off a towel, but had not pretended to demure when Dick invited him into the shower for a blowjob. After nearly a week of mindless fucking, Dick was glad for a chance to show off some finesse.

Dick was sated and stable by the time he finally sent a message to the Cave requesting pickup. At some point, according to his previous messages, Slade had convinced him to send Bruce the code that he was safe and in hiding, which explained why he hadn’t been tracked down and dragged back to Gotham yet. Bruce responded to the ping immediately, letting Dick know that the Batjet was on the way to Cuba.

“I’ll have to meet him somewhere away from your safe house,” Dick said.

Slade gave him an amused look. “Yeah, kid.”

When Slade blindfolded him and led him in circles until they reached a beach outside Havana's city limits, Dick knew Slade had never planned to let him know the exact location of the safe house. It was a beautiful night, the breeze crisp and beautiful off the ocean. 

When the black jet appeared on the horizon, Slade began to slip away.

“Hey,” Dick said, and reached up to pull him into a kiss. It started as a thank you, but—as always—turned quickly filthy. He ran a hand through Slade's hair. “Next time, we’re finding a bed with a higher thread count.”

Slade smirked. “I’ll see what I can do.”


End file.
